Girl
by ItsAModModWorld
Summary: Summer of 1965. She's cynical, carefree, and seems to always be on the run. John Lennon has finally met his match in the midst of adventure. Can she handle him, or better yet, can he handle her?
1. Prologue

1965-Pan Am

She never dared to grow her hair out slightly past her shoulders- wavy and black heat-rolled curls that had always remained wild like a hurricane in all kinds of weather. Her eyes, light brown and curious, predisposed you onto joining her onto her every endeavor. Nameless, she climbed aboard onto the plane, her raven curls becoming one with the cigarette smoke of her fellow colleagues.

She silently thanked God for a window seat, until she felt someone kick the leather cushioned padding. _Oh, there's a child on this plane_ , she thought to herself, grimacing a bit.

"Sorry," the voice behind her murmured. She was surprised to discover that the actions belonged to man, rather than a six year old who fidgets too often.

"Oh, it's alright," she sheepishly smiled at him. He was handsome, with long dark hair that too laid on his head in waves, although they were slight. His eyes hid behind sunglasses.

The woman with the black hair and heart of wanderlust spent her eight hour flight facing the wrong way in her seat, gripping her seat cushions and resting her chin on the headrest and covering her mouth when she laughed too hard at the man with the sunglasses's stories.

Eventually, he took off his sunglasses, to reveal his own set of light brown eyes.

1966-Somewhere in London

The orchestra filled the air in the reception area in a chapel with a symphony, cheering off the pomp and circumstance with blissful champagne bubbles and promise of living for forever and a day. Rose petals scattered the wooden floor, often meeting its fate of getting stepped on by a heel.

The man with the sunglasses and the spectacular woman with the dark hair attended a wedding. However, it was not their own. In fact, they weren't even sitting together; they sat on opposite wings of the hall. She sat with hardly-known acquaintances and bit her tongue to avoid speaking to them. On the other hand, he wasn't with her. He was with her, his wife, his honey-blonde college sweetheart.

Initially, she was outraged that he was married; however, he had explained that it was a marriage out of obligation, not even remotely close to love. She resented him, and though her heart had been full, she knew how and when to cut the threads that bound their veins into one stream. He even said that he was going to divorce her soon so he could be happy with her.

But still, marriage is marriage. And he was set to tell his wife tonight.

He looked straight across the room to her and couldn't help but smile, a pure sensation that would make him go tender at the mere sight of her anxious face. He tilted his head the slightest to the exit, towards the small garden outside.

Once outside, they ran through Van Gogh's Starry Starry night hand in hand, securing any possibility of being spotted- a mod Bonnie and Clyde.

"I-I don't know if I can do this. It's not fair to me or her," her face was flushed.

"Please, please wait," he furrowed his brows and kept her hands safely in his. They were always cold, even during the summer. "You've got the entire world inside of you."

He got down on one knee, pulling a velvet box out from his pocket.

"Look at me, dear. Now I know we can't get married-not right now, maybe in the future. I just want you to know that I promise to always love you, and take care of you, and chase you wherever the hell you go because I know you hate being in one place," he looked at her desperately, kissing her fingers. "And with this ring, I promise to always be by your side."

He slid the ring onto her left ring finger, leaping up to kiss her feverishly. His ears felt hot. The spaces between their bodies quickly filled and suddenly, they were one, and then none. Wiping their tears away, they made sure to keep their distance when walking back to the reception. But not even a mere 25 paces could establish their distance.

She, the golden haired woman, understood that too.

2 and 2 becomes three, and a golden tide crashes onto a cascade of obsidian with its wave of wine.

And that cascade of obsidian runs once again, this time alone, and with a face splashed with 1960 Chianti.


	2. Prologue Part 2

There is nothing more repulsive than staying in one place- the stagnant nature of basking in routine. Running away from everything, she had purchased the cheapest ticket to South Africa and suddenly, she was out of her too tight pink dress after receiving a face splashed with wine, and on her way to chase the dry sky above her.

She knew it meant leaving everything behind, including him, but she knew she would be okay.

The previous night's endeavors were catastrophic and tasted bitter in the back of her throat.

Politely excusing herself through the cramped seat aisles, stuffed with various peoples and their own stories of escape, she avoided eye contact until finding a seat of her own. She had met him on an airplane too.

She looked down at the silver band on her left ring finger; although it was not a wedding or engagement ring, it still bound her to him eternally.

It's not like they didn't want to get married. They couldn't. Lacking a lawful wed, the only perennial binding they had was a promise.

Luckily, a promise was the only thing they needed.

"That ring looks familiar," a man with a large hat sat next to her.

"Yeah, it's a popular ring probably. It was a gift," she scoffed, twisting it around her finger and not bothering to look up.

"Whoever gave it to you really loves you then,"

"I love him too," she smiled softly, "But we can't be together,"

"Well, maybe we can,"

She lifted her head and finally looked at him.

He smiled smugly, removing his hat. "I've missed you quite a lot, darling."


	3. Chapter 1

**Hello~! Haven't written here in years, haha. This is an altered version of an online roleplay I did many years ago. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **Margot the Magnificent**

* * *

"The 1:20PM flight from London, England to Tahiti is now boarding," an intercom voice announced. The airport bustled with its interchanging patrons, the gleaming tiles clicking as luggage wheels whirred and heels tapped against its surface.

Margot gleamed, glancing up at the clock and clutching her first-class ticket to Tahiti. A wanderlust-stricken nomad, she had thrown her life away and made her way to chase the world. She handed her ticket to the less-than-enthusiastic attendant. She never dared to grow her hair out slightly past her shoulders- wavy and black heat-rolled curls that had always remained wild like a hurricane in all kinds of weather. Her eyes, light brown and curious, predisposed you onto joining her onto her every endeavor. She climbed aboard onto the plane, her raven curls becoming one with the cigarette smoke of her fellow colleagues.

She silently thanked God for a window seat, until she felt someone kick the leather cushioned padding. _Oh, there's a child on this plane_ , she thought to herself, grimacing a bit.

"Sorry," the voice behind her murmured. She was surprised to discover that the actions belonged to man, rather than a six year old who fidgets too often.

"Oh, it's alright," she sheepishly smiled at him. He was handsome, with long dark hair that too laid on his head in waves, although they were slight. His eyes hid behind sunglasses. She squinted at him and tilted her head slightly- he looked familiar, and his voice was something she's heard many times. She rested her chin on the leather headrest of the seat, gripping its sides.

A glint of mischief shone through her brown eyes. Smirking, she took the glasses off his face and tucked them onto her head.

"Ah. You're a Beatle," she raised her eyebrows. "That Lennon fellow."

Returning her cunning smile, he retorted, "I thought I was that McCartney fellow! And who must you be?"

"Margot, the Magnificent," she grinned, "At your service, Beatle Lennon."

"Is that so?"

"You wish."

"And, so what if I do?" It was slightly unnatural for a girl to not fawn over him, but he enjoyed it, basking in its comfort. She only threw back what he said right back at him. Most often, women would fumble on their words and say the same things over and over; it had become a second nature for him to receive compliments at an epidermal level.

"Then you must be desperate," she replied. "You have 12 year olds at your feet, anyways."

He snorted at her remark. Beatlemania had become something he'd grown to appreciate but slowly resent. He couldn't go outside without being attacked by girls, always shoving Paul out first to be devoured. He was the prettiest, anyway. "Not a fan of the fans I see. Why is that? Is it because they're taller than you?"

"Oh bite me, Lennon." Margot rolled her eyes and chuckled at his comment. She was pretty short, though she was taken aback that he noticed.

"Quit sitting the wrong way, Miss. Are you 12?"

"No, I listen to good music, thank you very much."

"Ouch, my heart!" John sunk a little in his seat. "Well, Ms. Margot the Magnificent, if you're not going to sit properly, at least bring your shenanigans to this row, pretty please."

"What do I get out of it?" She tapped her fingers against the leather. Her voice was deadpan.

"Me, of course."

"How repulsive," she muttered, albeit crawling out of her seat and walking to the brown haired man's row behind her. She plopped down to the seat next to him, buckling up.

Now, he had a closer view of her face. She looked borderline evil, very catlike. Her long, black hair, cascading in large waves, contrasted heavily with the trend of bobbed blonde hair. Her olive skin was sprinkled with light freckles, which brought out the gold in her light brown eyes. Her eyes were curious, yet unreadable, as though they hadn't contained any emotions, or knew how to. She was beautiful, and it hurt.

"Flight 711 to Tahiti is now flying. Please buckle up, as we prepare for takeoff." the pilot announced over the intercom. The plane began to speed on the runway, and soon enough, it lifted off the pavement and aimed for the skies; Margot had never been afraid of flying. She had never been afraid of anything, as a matter of fact. The plane settled itself once again, and the city below began to mold into an obscure civilization.

"Not afraid of heights, eh?" John asked her.

"Not afraid of anything," she replied. "What are you afraid of?"

A question he learned to not acknowledge, John hadn't thought much of what he fears. He's faced death at a young age; fear is something he had learned to dance with.

"You."

"Very cute, Lennon," the chance of John being afraid of her was median. Men were attracted to her easily; something about her predisposed many to doing whatever she desired. As the numbers stacked, her amount of care decreased. She denounced the name of love in their faces. "But really, what kills you?"

"You, again." He smiled at her. "And the dentist."

"Aw, afraid of a teeth cleaning!" she laughed. "You're very sweet, by the way."

"I try, I do. I really do," he murmured as he stared at her face. "Now if you give me a pen, I could make out little constellations on that pretty face."

Margot was confident of her freckles, unlike the many who resented the specks on their face, as if they were marks on a test that could not be erased fully. "I know, I'm an entire universe."

"Who's the sun of yours?" he asked.

"No one," she shook her head. "Not even you."

"Oh, how I wished to be, though,"

"Maybe you can be," she patted his head. His brown her was soft, and she couldn't help but smile when he did.


	4. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry for the long wait! I'll try to update as often as I can. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Mile High Club**

* * *

The rest of the flight consisted of the two of them talking, as though they had known each other since the universe was created. It could be considered flirting even, if Margot allowed herself to feel anything towards others. A guarded woman, she was; one that not even a Beatle could crack.

"I hadn't asked ya why you're flyin' to some exotic island by yourself, love," John piped up, placing his chin in his hand.

"Well, why are you?" she retorted, avoiding the question. She didn't fancy answering questions too easily or quickly.

"Band stuff," He replied. "You stuff." John wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made her groan and roll her eyes, as though it were her second nature.

Margot had noticed he was leaning closer to her now. Cute, she thought. She could see why so many girls had fallen so hard for him; he was sarcastic and witty. He was a book begging to be opened, a mystery to be solved. But even the most attractive of men did not charm her.

From John's point of view, Margot had been the same way. Attractive, but hard to crack. She was very similar to him in a way where they were both sarcastic and lacked the ability to take things seriously. Essentially, she was the challenge he had been waiting for, what has seemed like years.

"You are a dog, John Lennon!" she groaned. "Anyway, I'm just trying to find my way through the world."

"How's that?"

"Dunno. Perhaps I'm just bored," she explained. "I just have this urge to take on everything, but I can never be satisfied."

"Bet,"

She punched him in the arm. "Not like that, you arse," she continued. "I want to explore. I think I'd die if I stayed in the same place, wouldn't you?"

John looked at her and considered her question; as a rockstar, he was never home, always on the run and always at a new place, yet he hadn't felt more trapped. "I'd put myself out of my own misery,"

"You probably don't feel the same way, given that you're constantly touring and stuff," she claimed.

"Now that's where you're wrong," John said. "Being a Beatle is the fuckin' bee's knees and all, but I can't enjoy anything without being bombarded by fans who've gone potty. Perhaps I'm trapped in a different way, love."

This time, it was Margot's turn to consider what he had just said. She felt for him, understanding how tedious it would be to never breathe or relax due to fans and fame. After this, they stopped talking, sitting in silence as John wrote in a journal, while she looked out the window. She nodded off, unknowingly resting her head on his shoulder.

John looked down while trying not to move, enjoying the warmth he felt on his shoulder. He rested his head on top of her's, smiling subtlely. They remained like this for the next two hours, subconcsiously enjoying the other's company.

Margot jumped in her sleep, waking herself up. Once realizing where she had been sleeping, she scoffed and quickly sat up, hoping that he wouldn't notice; however, he woke up as well, his hair slightly unkempt. He had looked pretty adorable with his messy hair, though she would never admit it out loud.

"G'morning, angel face," he smirked at her sleepily.

She felt her cheeks warm up. "Save the names for you wife, Lennon,"

Knowing that John was married, the constant flirting was questionable. She was certain that getting involved with a celebrity would be hell, for the both of them. Alongside that, she wasn't fond of cheaters; she believed it would be easier to cut ties off, then pursue the person they desired. However, such circumstances weren't as easy for John, as he was married, with a son.

"Wish I could," he replied. "But for now, those names suit you." He looked around to see Paul, Ringo, and George, who were all still asleep in their rows.

"Angelface, my arse," She said, laughing. "More like demonface."

"The only demonface around here is me," He said. He crossed his eyes and bared his teeth.

"For once, I agree with you,"

She glanced out the window and pressed her head on the glass. The sky was an orange and pink that swirled together endlessly, a marmalade delight.

"See? Now we're getting places," He replied, subtly wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "You should also agree to meet me in the restroom in five minutes." He tilted his head down and whispered into her ear. She snapped and sat straight, shooting him a look of disgust.

"What," She said.

"You heard me,"

"What," She repeated herself. She glared at him.

"See ya in five minutes, love." His cheeks were raised so high on his face, as though he was about to crack from smiling so much.

"No,"

"Why not?"

"The only way you and I are ever going in there is if you're holding my hair back while I vomit,"

"Those years in charm school really paid off,"

"Ta." She rolled her eyes.

Five minutes later

John winked at her as he stood up and left for the bathroom. He chuckled and jumped through the aisle. Margot turned around and watched him close the door. I'm not going in there, fuck that. She thought to herself. She laughed at the thought of him waiting there for the rest of the flight.

Three minutes later

Damn it. Margot thought as she opened the bathroom door. John stood there, using his arm to lean on.

"Was there traffic on the way here?" He asked.

"Shut up," She shoved him and their lips collided.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

 **It Doesn't Hurt To Tag Along**

* * *

It was as though the two of them could set the entire plane on fire with one kiss. Their lust was incendiary, though ephemeral. This was the closest to love they could get, and it was a good kind of pain.

"Christ, are you a succubus?" John asked, out of breath, as he leaned against the grey wall.

Margot glanced at him through the mirror while she fixed her hair. She shrugged. "Dunno, maybe," She unlocked the door and walked back to her seat. "Hurry up, will you? There's a line."

John scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. Where the hell has this girl been all his life? She was a woman made of hellfire. She got under his skin so quickly, nothing like anything he'd seen before in his life. She was nothing like Cynthia; she didn't have manners, she was brooding and rude, dark in every way. He didn't even like dark haired girls. Yet here she was, with messy, black hair, already breaking his heart. He zipped his pants off and ran to his seat, bumping into the next person in line for the bathroom. He muttered a "sorry" and plopped back into the leather seat.

The black haired woman snickered and shook her head, cursing at herself in her head. Eternally a nonbeliever of love, yet she betrayed herself, and his wife, who could easily be pictured taking care of a child, most likely counting down the days until her coy-mouthed husband could return home. She could not but feel pity for the blonde woman; she wondered how often John had a quick shag with another woman while on tour, how easily he had surrendered his fidelity for an hour of mustered up passion. It was quite ironic how she had no fear of intimacy just as she felt the fear of commitment bubble up in her skin. Intimacy and commitment meld eloquently, hand in hand, one without the other; in Margot's life, intimacy and commitment are nothing but enemies and juxtaposed acquaintances who could not merge for more than a minute before erupting to catastrophic, tragic debris.

John lit a cigarette in the seat, the smoke unfurling and reaching Margot's nostrils, a rockstar's makeshift after-sex-cigarette. Neither of them said a word to each other besides the time he had attempted to hold her hand, which she had yanked away and told him to "sod off".

"How often do you shag women other than your wife?" it was as though her voice pierced the air with her soft and low voice.

He tilted his head slightly and didn't change his expression, though he had been taken aback by her sudden inquiry. Usually Paul and the rest of them wouldn't say or make much of it, as it had become a silent and circadian blemish on the touring days that not even a single of them could stand up to protest. Touring, decadent and laden with the promise of the utmost rewarding success and glory had proven to be the loneliest of days, as though the four men were dehydrated and abandoned at sea. The roaring in his ears was substantially more trying than the desire for any crowd of adoring fans could ever be. The wanting, the needing of love, comfort, a goddamn body to hold had prompted for fidelity to unhinge itself as a commonplace in their lives.

"Too often than I should. Next question is for you," John replied.

She couldn't ask why, because she already knew the answer. She was two parts apathy and one part pity, for him, and his star-crossed wife. Defeated, she sighed and quickly mulled over this tension-filled air. She declared that she wouldn't care about anything and this was no exception.

"Alright, shoot,"

"Are you going to miss me once this plane lands?" he asked, "Where are you gonna go after this?"

"Okay, first off, that was two questions," she answered. "Secondly, no, and none of your business."

"I think we should continue what we have going on after this death trap lands, yeah?" his cigarette hung loosely from his lips. Noting this, Margot pulled it from his lips and placed it inbetween her own, breathing in the smoky air.

"Aw, you're gonna miss me!"

"I won't, if you come with me."

"Where? I'm sorry, but being trampled on by fans sounds like bleedin' hell to me."

John sighed. "It is sometimes, but you would be the only thing in the world that will stop me from yankin' my hair out during this thing!"

"You're one of the most famous people on this planet, flying to a beautiful and tropical destination and you think you're gonna go bald from misery?"

"Yes!"

Margot tossed her head back and laughed. "My god, Lennon, you are a child."

"I know, and you are an angel face, so pretty please, just accompany me during this trip."

"What will your mates say about you being with a stranger like me?"

He shrugged. "It won't be anything new to them."

She couldn't believe that she was actually considering this nonsense. It was trivial and all seemed to good to be true, as if she were experiencing a fever dream. Being with him was like having a fever, after all. She pictured the tabloid news articles in her head, how her life would be teeming with paparazzi and microphones being shoved into her face would become a clockwork routine in her young days. Margot knew better than to let herself get easily exposed, and if she were to continue this with Lennon, it would be as traceable as the Bermuda Triangle. However, she also knew she couldn't give in too easily; her mind games were too important to give up.

"We'll just have to see then, won't we?" she took another drag of the cigarette. Impulsive with her decisions, she didn't even know what her next step in action would be herself.  
Soon enough, the plane would be landing, a shrill urgency that represented her impending decision.

"Cheeky, I like it," he replied. The intercom announced that the plane would be landing in ten minutes. "Write down the address of the hotel you're staying at. I'll be visiting you soon." He ripped off a piece of paper from his notebook and handed her a pencil. John leaned over her shoulder as she began to scrawl in messy handwriting.

"Space, please? Thank you. I need to breathe too, you know," she chuckled. She folded up the piece of paper, and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt.

"Thank you for your service, miss," John said. "I'll see you soon, Angelface."

She looked at him and smiled; the plane had finally landed, and she stood up to retrieve her bags. She moved past Lennon and tried to move into the aisle, bumping into Paul McCartney.

"Ya ever heard of moving?" she snickered and patted him on the shoulder before squeezing in front of him and pacing up to the airplane doors.

Paul glanced at John and shot him a discerning look. "Quite a bird you got there, Johnny."

"I know, right?" John muttered under his breath as he watched her flee the plane. He and the rest of the Beatles eventually stepped off the plane, the tropical winds making a mess of their shaggy, dark hair. Turning in his feet, he scanned the vicinity for the girl with dark hair, but only found a cluster of faceless bodies, clutching their suitcases and cameras and heading their own directions.

He reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded the slip of paper, chuckling and shaking his head at what he saw. In messy handwriting, it read, "TRY AGAIN".


	6. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the sweet reviews! It means a lot. :)**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter Four:**

 **A Subtle Hide and Seek**

* * *

"I can't fuckin' believe it," he said, dumbfounded. She had completely knocked him off of his feet and he could still feel his teeth ringing. He shook his head once again and smiled, impressed at how she had fooled him so easily. It was as though he puffed his chest out, cocky and confident that he would find her again someday, and hopefully soon, where she could finally be rightfully his. He folded the note back up, a frivolous and insipid reminder that whatever this chase was, was at its most premature stage.

"Can't believe what?" Paul asked, grabbing the note from his shirt pocket. He read the ripped piece of paper and laughed.

"What the hell is this? 'Try again'?" he laughed. "She didn't put out, ey Lennon?"

"She fuckin' did!" John replied. "She must of disappeared into thin air or something!"

"Sure sounds like it," Paul said sarcastically. "Maybe she wants you to get out of her sight, ever think of that? Poor bird was probably prayin' for it to be over!"

"Then why'd she tell me to try again?" the older Beatle asked, beginning to walk away and only turning back to say, "Fuckin' twat."

McCartney placed his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender, although he had found the situation much to his amusement; not often was it that Lennon was rejected, or stood up by a woman, or anyone, in fact. He mentally thanked the dark haired woman, wherever she may be, for this sweet, sonorous, albeit, flippant opportunity to tame John's ego. He had been so easily accustomed, adjusted to the orbital routine of Lennon having women at his knees that he could not help but enjoy this strange, yet comforting calm before a great and catastrophic storm. Ironically enough, his grin quickly melted as the thought of him encountering a woman who just met his caliber, unafraid and ready to serve as his opponent entered the vast and ongoing planes of his mind. He scurried to carry his bags and followed the rest of the Beatles on their way to catch a car.

"Try again"? What the hell does that even mean? John thought to himself. He scoffed as he realized that there was a reason why she had told him to back off when writing on the piece of paper- he had been too foolish to check the note once he received it. He mentally slapped himself in the face for having not been more aware, more alert that women like her were not easy to catch. He shouldn't care about her, right? He was John fucking Lennon, and things like this happen all the time- this was just a fling, a fling with a unique and eccentric woman much more independent and free than most. She was just like every other woman, right? He silently attempted to convince himself that he would forget about her, though each thought was more trifling and trying than the last, futile and borderline pathetic.

"To Sandals Resort, please!" Margot said, smiling at the taxi driver as she entered the back seats.

She glimpsed outside of her window, smirking once the airport behind her shrunk down in size. Taking in the greenery and blue, cloudless sky above her, Margot basked in the sheer magnificence and liberty of being far away from home, alone, with a head start on a lifesize game of tag that she herself hadn't known whether she would be able to complete or not. Fuzzed tropical music emanated from the speakers of the old taxi, an unlikely friend that would accompany her and serve as a bodiless companion-not that she had ever felt a drop of loneliness, however; she had been alone all her life, but she had never felt so favored.

She thanked the driver as she exited the car and paid him a copious tip before grabbing her luggage out of the trunk. This was the threshold of adventure.

He looked everywhere for her when he wasn't shooting for Help!, the Beatles' most recent film. Inbetween takes, he would scan the area for her. The others had assumed he had gone mad, or paranoid from smoking too much pot. After filming for the day, John and the rest of them had gone to eat, dabbling in the luxury of five-star service. Margot had been able to sit up in first class with the rest of them, so he assumed that only she would have been enabled to dine at overly expensive restaurants as well.

"John, who are you looking for?" Brian Epstein asked. "You haven't touched your food, are you sick?"

Before John could speak up, Paul cut him off. "No, he's just smitten with some bird he met on the plane. They got off really well, then she disappeared! She probably ran off with another man, you know."

"Oh Christ, is that true, John?" their manager said.

"It's none of your damn business, that's what," John replied as he stabbed food with his fork and piled it into his mouth.

"It was basically a one night stand then! You don't need other women to be causing this much of a rouse," Epstein replied. "Whatever this is, it better not become public; wouldn't want the wife to find out about this. And this goes for any of you." He pointed at the rest of the Beatles, with Ringo's eyes widening.

"I wouldn't even think of such a thing!" Ringo exclaimed, placing his arms in the air as a form of submission.

"I've got Pattie, no need for me to look around," George piped up, although all of them knew that they would be in fact mingling with numerous women.

"We'll behave, Eppy. No need to worry about us, us meaning George, Ringo, and I," Paul laughed. John punched him in the arm. To him it was more than a one night stand. A one night stand was a lust driven act of half spoken words and shallow promises. Whatever was what John and the dark haired woman had was an unfinished book with the endings ripped out, and he was simply trying to catch the missing pages.

Two days later

She was smoke under a lamp, mingling with various people nevermore for a good moment. Like smoke, she was painfully strong and present, yet she left people wondering whether she even existed at all, an inbetween and ephemeral ghost who could not decide where to haunt. The night was newborn and it was the latest club in the vicinity of Nassau, where Margot decided to cheer her vacation off, with the schemes and dreams of a promise of never growing up, and eternally basking in youthful glory. Drink in hand, she danced the night away, faces melting away into nothingness.

There she was, in a tight dress, with half of her hair up in a bouffant.

In the flesh.

And she was beautiful.

The rest of the boys had been too busy flirting with other women to notice that John was alone; he rubbed his eyes to ensure that she was in fact, there. It was as though time slowed down, and perhaps, she really was the still point in the turning world. In his imagined slow motion, John walked up to her and reached out, surprised that he felt something as his fingertips touched her thin wrist.

"There you are," he said. "I've been lookin' for you everywhere!"

"I'm impressed," Margot replied, her voice was cool and low. "You really did try again." She took a sip of her martini.

"Yeah I fuckin' did. Why'd you leave?" his voice grew slightly aggressive, annoyed with her reluctance to commit to anything, for being so unreachable in such a short matter of area and time.

She squinted at him, and averted her eyes to see if anyone was watching. Paul, George, and Ringo made eye contact with her and quickly looked away. "Because I can, darling. 'Why would you stay?' would be a better question for you, now that I think about it. Now, why would you?"

"You're a Beatle, you can have anyone you want, can't you?" she continued.

He stared at her in disbelief. "Well I can, can't I?" he retorted to all of her questions. "Remember that you're not the only one here who can do whatever the damn hell they want."

He sighed, unable to render why he was getting so worked up. She pulled out a cigarette and as if it were on command, he fished out his lighter and rewarded her with a single flame. She looked at him as a sign of gratitude.

"I'm just wondering why someone like you would want someone like me, that's all," she responded; it was half rhetorical, only shooting that kind of inquiry into the air was simply a matter of prompting a sign of vulnerability. She knew he wanted him because it was just what he needed, but would he admit it? How would he admit it?

"You and I both know for damn sure why I want you!" John replied in a "matter-of-fact" tone. "I can tell you want me too, you know. You're just scared of confessing your little ol' crush on me."

"Once again, Lennon, I'm not one of your 12 year old fans, you probably wish I were though, right?"

"No, I like my woman slightly more developed, thank you very much."

"How much is slightly, exactly?" Margot retorted. "13? Or maybe 16?"

"I ain't a fuckin' pedophile!" John said. "I meant developed in height, little Hobbit. Maybe you can ask Santa for some stilts."

Margot rolled her eyes, given that she had to look up when speaking to him. He was significantly taller than her, standing at 5'10" while she was a mere 5'2". "And maybe you can ask Santa for a brain."

"Ow! My heart!"

"Oh, wasn't aware you had one of those either."

"Listen, love, if anyone here doesn't have a heart, it's gonna be you." He held her chin and her eyes smoldered.

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Well, is it now?" he grinned at her.

"I don't really need one. It's not like I'd give it away anytime soon," she replied. "Especially not to you of all people."

"Is that a threat or a promise now, Angelface?"

"Maybe a little bit of both. Why don't you be a gentleman and buy me a Scotch and Coke?" while it was a question, she made it seem like it was an order.

"Your wish is my command, princess," he winked at her and disappeared into the crowd of people, gleaming at the fact that she had ordered his favorite drink.

She scoffed at the sickening nickname and took a seat at one of the long couches in the club, holding her cigarette with two slender, manicured fingers. One man noticed that she was alone, and sat beside her.

"Are you and that Lennon fellow a thing?" the man asked.

"Perhaps, why?" she didn't remove her eyes from the furling ashes of her cigarette.

"Oh, that's a shame. You're quite the looker and I was interested in getting to know you. You know, Lennon has a wife and a son back home," the man spoke quickly and aggressively, his breath was stale with the stench of alcohol and smoke.

"That's nice," Margot was half attentive to the conversation, sighing as she glanced into the sea of people. For the first time, she wanted John's presence, only to shoo off this sad excuse for a man.

John went back to the same spot, only to his dismay, where she was nowhere in sight. Silently panicking, he frantically turned in his feet and searched for her, instantly calming down once he saw her sitting on a couch, although it was with another man. Knowing her attitude, he knew the man beside her was no threat.

"I left only for a minute, and you've got yourself a new boyfriend?" John teased. "Here's your drink, love."

"Ta," Margot grabbed the drink from his hand and lifted it slightly as a cheer, winking at him.

" _New_ boyfriend?" the man stammered.

"Yes, I am her boyfriend, isn't that right, love?" John asked.

She looked up from her drink and raised her eyebrows, nodding as she took a sip. Serves the man for instigating, after all. Men like him wouldn't stand a chance. John couldn't help but smile because for the first time, she agreed with him. It was a rather simple notion, but its magnitude could have rivaled the power of a thousand earthquakes.

"The lady confirms it, so move," John said. "You're takin' too much space." The man shot them a dirty look and walked away from his failed and miserable attempt.

"Thanks for saving me, that man was pathetic," Margot took a drag of her cigarette.

"So you agree that I'm your boyfriend?" John asked, smiling.

"For only 15 seconds!"

"I promise I can last longer than that," he chuckled. "After all, you would know."

"You are a dog," she replied. "Also, you aren't my boyfriend."

"So, 'lover', then?" Another sip.

"Oh, not even close." Margot gagged at his question and playfully hit him in the arm.

"So, referring back to our prior conversation before we were rudely interrupted, what if I made you grow a heart? Then, would you give it to me?"

"It depends on the weather, honestly."

"I'll make sure it rains every day then, yeah?" John shot her a strange, yet adoring look at the woman.

"If I gave you my heart, would you give me yours?" she asked.

"In a heartbeat." He winked at her, receiving what felt like a thousandth eye roll.

"For some reason, I don't believe you! You'll just have to prove it to me then, won't you?" She taunted.

"It's a deal, then."


	7. Chapter 5

**Your reviews make me so happy! Keep em' coming you guys! :D**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter 5:**

 **Troublemaker Heartbreaker**

* * *

Margot was indifferent, as in, her intuition had been clouded physically and mentally on account of her surroundings and given situation. She assessed Lennon's traits, separating his fame from his being. Her vision was too often compromised due to the smoke, and overall atmosphere of the club-mentally, she couldn't distinguish magic from a rabbit in the hat. Unlike other men, she resonated quite well with how he saw the world, and she only desired those who could be a partner in crime, a rival, a sparring partner.

"What does the winner get? A kiss on the cheek? A town sheriff sticker badge?" She asked.

"A hell of a good time with me, sweetheart," Lennon replied.

"'Good time', haha, good one. Why do you say it like you've already won?" Margot shifted her position on the couch, and John wrapped his arm around her.

"Might as well give up now, Ms. Magnificent. You'll be on your knees, beggin' for me by the end of it," Lennon took a drag of her cigarette.

"Giving up and I don't get along," she said as she snatched it back. "Very much like you and common sense. Anyway, it's too easy to not give up."

Introspecting on her previous relationships, she hadn't ever given in truly loving someone fully, and truly believed that people like her weren't made for love, only short lived moments and spontaneous bouts of distraction; _people like her weren't supposed to stay_.

"What makes you think that? I'm handsome-" John started off.

"Eh-" Margot said, but was then cut off.

"Smart-" he continued.

"Smartass-" she added on.

"Witty-"

"Obnoxious-"

"Confident-"

"Conceited-"

"Talented-"

"Lucky-"

"Charismatic-"

"Quite repelling, actually," she blew a ring of smoke into his face, and he coughed.

He stared at her, and he couldn't tell if he was staring at the lady or the tiger. Her eyes held nothing but opaque clairvoyance, easily manipulating the ability to induce him into following her every endeavor. Every word rivaled his own and yet, he had never been more attracted, orbiting her as though the Moon taught him to gravitate towards things he could not be without.

"You're quite magnetic, I'm surprised you and I haven't clashed and knocked a few teeth out yet," He placed his hand on her stocking-covered thigh.

"I've been told I can throw a good punch, you know," she laughed and leaned in closer to him. "Don't be surprised any day now." She plucked John's hand off of her thigh and stood up.

"That'll be easy," he said sarcastically. "It's not like anything you do is unpredictable or anything…"

"If you need me, I'll be getting another drink," she said before sauntering off. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Not wanting to be particularly left out, or alone, John stood up and followed suit, snaking an arm around her waist. In addition to feeling left out, the underlying thought of losing her again protruded in his mind, as she was untouchable and restless, never exhausting her destinations. He found himself countlessly being surprised at her actions, whether she was being affectionate or completely despondent; this time, he beamed at her silent permission of his hand on her small waist, which to him, was akin to breaking another barrier. Over her shoulder, he ordered another drink as well, the alcohol leaving a trail of sparks in comparison to the wildfire Margot had left inside his left ventricle.

Rather than returning to their couch, Margot slipped her hand into his and led him to the crowded dancefloor, allowing the music to possess her. There she was, the girl on fire, pausing time with a simple twirl; John fixated his eyes on her and downed whatever was left in his glass before entering her space and dancing with her. It wasn't frequent for someone like him to dance. Usually, he would be too busy doing other things than to truly stop and listen to the music. Being with her was like being in slow motion and for the first time, in a long time, he stopped to enjoy the audible art. She allowed the music to fill her empty veins and she had left the tiled area singed with her electric glory. Each of her movements, sensual and eccentric, taunted and teased the famous rockstar, prompting him to storm over and kiss her passionately on the lips, and he couldn't tell what burned more- his throat, or his lips, for she had never been more incendiary.

"I can't fuckin' take this anymore. Let's go upstairs," John said into her ear, brushing her hair back. At this point, Margot had just enough alcohol to loosen her up, but not completely overcome her.

"You'll have to catch me first then," she winked at him and began to bolt to the door, eloquently sliding through numerous clubbers. John shook his head at her and laughed and began to chase her, apologizing for bumping into the same people. Once having exited the club, he stood on his toes and searched for Margot, laughing once he found her running down the tropical streets. He exerted his energy and ran until he finally caught up to her, grabbing her wrist and carrying her on his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart." he growled, out of breath, as he headed for the hotel. "Can't escape me now."

"Jesus, John! Put me down!" she exclaimed between laughs, out of breath as well. She pounded her fists against his back and slowly began to give up from laughing too hard. Once they reached the lobby of the hotel, he placed her down on the ground.

"The whole fucking street probably saw my knickers!" Margot pulled her dress down and hit Lennon's arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed. "You're gonna pay for that, honey."

"Oh shut up," she pushed him out of the way and raced for the elevator, jamming on the up arrow. She hadn't even realized that the hotel John brought her to was the same one she was staying in. He shoved her out of the way and jammed on the button as well, and this continued until it finally arrived.

"Move!" she yelled, shoving him once again. She made it first into the elevator and tried to close it before he got in, but he was too close and made it in time. He turned around and put his hands on her waist again before kissing her once again, even feeling her bite his lip a few times. Again, the lift doors opened and its welcoming ding of arrival set Margot off in opponent mode once more, pushing him off of her and running off.

"My suite's over here, woman," John called out to her, and she turned around, somehow still managing to make it over there before he did. He unlocked the door and she bolted in, and hid. He searched for her, jumping every so often. Then, he heard a giggle and a door close.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in," he gruffed as he walked over.

"Not by the hairs of my chinny chin chin!" Margot replied in a high pitch voice.

"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!" he yelled out, knocking on the door. Suddenly, she opened the door a tad, only to flip him the bird.

"You're a wanker," she said, and began to close the door. However, John's foot blocked it from moving, and he got a hold of her. She slid out of his grip and ran across the master bedroom, where they stood at opposite ends of the bed, out of breath. She chucked a pillow at his head and screamed when he pounced for her, prompting her to roll over the bed and onto the other side. She never seemed to stop running, and Lennon was always close on her tail, until he pinned her to the bed, declaring himself as the winner.

"And you're mine now, Ms. Magnificent," John nipped at her neck playfully. "Or should I say, Mrs. Wanker?"

Margot exhaled a sigh of defeat. "Actually, that's Ms. Not-Yours to you, mister," she lifted her head up to kiss him.

"Your actions speak louder than words, luv," he chuckled before suckling on her neck and leaving a purple mark. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and it read 2:10, its arms ticking away in a never ending cycle. He looked over at the large, wide window, where the moon and sparse city lights shimmered through and washed over Margot's olive skin. Often times, at 2:10AM John would have been in bed, sleeping with Cynthia, and though a rather simplistic procedure, he had preferred this rendition of the night more than any other, with his guilt a past memory.

He feverishly kissed Margot on the lips once again, squeezing her pinned wrists; his long legs restricted the bottom half of her body from moving, as his legs were straddled over hers. She was stunned by the force of the kiss that emanated from the mischievous and experienced lips from the man who was possibly blessed by Apollo himself. Gaining power, she freed her wrists from John's fists and began unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his sunless skin.

Three layers in between them.

He reciprocated, tugging the grey and black lace body off of her figure and thus exposing her black lingerie- he could have sworn that she glowed. She forced himself off of her body and flipped them over so that she was on top, and began yanking at his jeans. Never once had she ever felt so frenetic and in need in and from a man, not until the moment the "Do Not Disturb" sign swung from the doorknob of Suite 101.

Two layers.

Though a rather brash man, Lennon knew manners. He took off his boxers and did the favor of unclasping her bra, which he then flung across the room. The flying object knocked over a piece of furniture, causing the couple to laugh at their own impatience. Flipping them over once again, John gained dominance, sliding down her lace knickers.

Zero layers.

"You're such a damn tease," John growled as he slapped her ass, and pulled on her hair. He grabbed his tie from the side of the bed and used it as a makeshift blindfold, beginning their night dangerously.

Around 4AM, Margot was finally asleep in his arms, leaving a half awake John enamored with her beauty. This would be the first time seeing her rest, not awkwardly on an airplane, but peacefully sleeping, on his chest and in his arms, where he knew she belonged. He kissed her on the forehead, and fell into a deep slumber.

The galaxy's only star rose early and left a hazy glow on the sleeping couple. Margot was the first one to wake up, feeling sore from the night's events. She looked down and found her skin bruised with red and purple lightning kisses. There were feathers sprinkled everywhere in the room. _There must have been a pillow fight,_ she thought. She quickly dressed herself and rolled her eyes whenever John snored too loudly.

This time, she didn't leave a note, walking out and leaving the sign to swing once again on Suite 101.


	8. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the reviews!**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter Six:**

 **A Modest Introduction**

* * *

John sighed and rolled over, expecting to feel the warm softness of her body. Instead, he only felt nothing. Opening his eyes, he panicked with the sheer thought of her disappearing branded onto the back of his eyelids. She was gone, unfortunately, again.

"God-fucking-damnit!" He yelled out, slamming his arm onto the fluffy white blanket.

Her game was getting old, no doubt. Why couldn't she be like every other fuckin' girl and just stay put? He thought. However, as he conjured the thought into his mind, he was able to answer his own question. He liked her _because_ she wasn't like any other girl, but then again, aren't all girls different? This one just has issues staying in the same place. He was at war with himself, and at war with the girl who couldn't bother to commit to anything. He couldn't distinguish whether her departures were on a whim decisions or hastily contrived insults that were stronger than a simple, "I don't like you."

He angrily rolled out of bed and spiked a pillow into the ground, muttering a string of curses as he got dressed for a new day of filming. Today, they would be filming another musical part of Help!, where he and the band would sing "Another Girl," which ironically enough, depicted John's relationship with Margot. Thinking of the song, he ached for her, and yet, he never felt so alive, so inebriated in the midst of the perfect exotic storm- in this case, it was never the location in which he thought of, but the girl whose last name and origins he never even knew.

He heard a loud banging on the door, and although it inevitably wasn't her, a part of him lit up, hoping that it was. He walked to the door and opened it, disappointed at what he saw.

"Hurry up, the car's here already," Paul pointed down the hall with his thumb, then looked around the room and smirked. "Seems like you had a fun night, eh? It's not a real party without a pillow fight."

John looked around the room, and no doubt, his hotel suite had been blanketed with white feathers. "What can I say? It was a damn party, all right." he kicked at some of the feathers.

Ringo and George came down the hall as well, peeking into the room. "What'd you do to her, Lennon? Kill her?" George asked.

Before John could answer, Ringo cut him off. "Speaking of her, where is she?"

"Don't tell me she left again!" Paul groaned.

John sighed, shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She must've slipped out while I was sleepin',"

"There's one thing I must ask you," Paul started off. "Did you try again? Like how her note told you to?"

"Yeah I fuckin' did!" John replied. "Better than the first time, I must admit. Well, let's get on, then." He pushed past the Beatles crowding by the door and made his way downstairs, towards the elevator; the others followed suit as well.

In those hours of filming, John wished Margot was there with him on the gorgeous beach, dancing with him instead of these extras, although the water was too cold for his taste. He wondered where she ran off to, and if she even cared about him at all. It wasn't often that he cared about the women he shagged. Constantly hearing Paul's song and pretending to performing only amplified his longing for her, and how badly he wished to leave in search for her. Luckily, they were taking a break soon, and he was to jump onto the opportunity before it was presented to him. He took a cab straight into the heart of the city and prayed that he would find her amongst the thousands that flooded the streets. It was about lunchtime, so he assumed he could find her somewhere unique, a place where his brain could have never summoned in its own material. It was already a difficult task, and it was to be amped up tenfold simply because he was a Beatle, and he was mobbed by fans wherever he went. He put his hat and sunglasses on, and prayed that no one approach him on his quest.

He walked the streets of Nassau, the same street where he and Margot ran across the other night, hoping to see her once again. He searched through the shops and various stores, aiming to find her, for what seemed like an eternity and a half. The occasional fan would come up and ask him if he was John Lennon, and he would shake his head and quickly walk away; his heart and mind primarily fixated themselves on her, and wherever she would be. Though he would never admit it, he would search for as long as it takes to find Margot because people like her were only found once in a lifetime, he felt.

With increasing desperation, he entered a small cafe and his first speculation had been accurate.

She was there, and she had looked so cool, a hurricane in all seasons.

He quickly made his way to her table, stripping off the hat and glasses as he took a seat.

"You never stay still, don't you?" He asked her angrily.

"Well, I'm still right now, aren't I?" She replied coyly, sitting still in her chair.

"You know what I mean, Margot!" John replied. "I thought last night was perfect, didn't you? What, am I not good enough for you or something? Too embarrassed to be fuckin' a Beatle?"

As he sputtered those words, he gradually couldn't believe they were coming out of his mouth, shocked at his sudden possessiveness, his attachment and insecurity. He was aware of his status, his talent and fame; why wouldn't anyone want him? Perhaps, he liked her, because she was the only one who didn't like him back.

"Last night was grand. Thanks for the bruises, by the way," Margot cooly replied, leaning to the side of the table and lifting her skirt up to reveal a large blue bruise. "I told you, Johnny, it's hard to win over someone like me. Don't get so worked up because I don't revere you like everyone else on this planet."

He felt as though he got slapped in the face; she might as well have done that, because his ego was as bruised as her body, and he could feel his ears get hot. What kind of game was she playing? Whatever it was, he was beginning to get sick of it, regardless of how much he adored her, as he was often too adjusted to having things handed to him. If not, his pestering was enough to win anything over. However, this was not the case, and she wouldn't budge. He stared at her once more, and was certain that he was leering into the eyes of the tiger, instead of the lady; if she was playing hard to get, then she deserved about 50 Oscars, if the coin landed on tails, he needed to get the hell out of there and get over it.

"You and I made a deal," he leaned towards her, lowering his voice and his eyes menacingly, and to Margot, it was pretty seductive. "I don't give up so easily either, Angel Face."

"Then don't be a baby about it, baby," she smirked at him. "I'm not so fond of sticking around the same places for too long. But this morning was more of an obligation, rather than a flee. I needed to go back to my suite. By the way, I forgot to tell you this: I'm a few doors down from you. Pretty mad, huh?"

He scoffed, pulling out a cigarette and exhaling. She was the utmost irresponsible, reckless, inconsistent, and untrustworthy witch he has ever had the dishonor of coming across.

"You're fuckin' unbelievable, you know that?"

"Isn't that why you adore me?"

He really felt as though every time an airy statement she exhaled doubled as a vocal tranquilizer that went straight through his third rib, every syllable dripping with poignance. She gleamed at his defeat the way that was reminiscent of soldiers, puffing their chest out as though they've won every war they've fought in. She really shut him up, and it was glorious.

Accepting and acknowledging his defeat, the slightest of a grin crept up onto his face, cloying and syrupy with adoration in its shyest form.

"I really do adore you," he had a finger under her chin. "You're really gonna make this hard for me, yeah?"

"Where would be the fun in making things easy, anyways?"

John had to agree with her on that one. Things were in fact easy, too easy for him, to consider anything to be serious anymore. He had always brushed off and denounced those who took life too seriously; savoring life as it was now was the best things could get, it was better than dwelling when you're too old to walk, that's for damn sure.

"I suppose you're right on that one, luv." He finally agreed with her. He glanced at his watch and realized he had twenty minutes to get back on set; initially, he wasn't even supposed to leave the location at all. "Shit, I have to go back on set soon for that bloody film. You should come along, you know, keep me company and all that other good stuff."

She raised her eyebrows at the suggestion, taking a sip of her coffee and shrugging. "I don't see why I can't. It's not like I have anything else to do right now,"

"Well, I mean, I'm here for a reason, aren't I?" he chuckled at her and winked, inferring that he wanted her to _do him_.

"That smirk looks adorable on your face," Margot's London accent spilled like sand in an hourglass. "You know what else does?"

"Hm?"

"My coffee."

John stood up and instinctively let his reflexes possess him. "You better fucking not!"

Margot laughed and followed suit, standing up and brushing herself off, her tight skirt and shirt accentuating her figure. "Then behave," she looked at him, taking note of how still he was. "Good boy." she patted his head.

Realizing he was barefaced in public, John scrambled for his sunglasses and hat. "Shit, wouldn't want to be spotted now, would we?" He grabbed Margot's hand and led her out of the cafe, where they searched for a cab. He stole a look at his watch again and realized he would soon be late.

"Quick! There's a cab right there!" Margot pointed at a cab, with a couple crawling into the back seat. It was unknown as to who pulled the other first, because they both ran towards the car, with John pushing the couple out of the car. She cackled at the sight and left her hand on John's knee.

"You're a fuckin' prick!" she exclaimed and faced him, the softening echoes of her laughter dying off. John placed his hand over hers.

"You're fuckin' this prick!" he shot back at her, his high pitched laughter filling the air, its tone rivalling the chime of a thousand bells. He placed his forehead against hers.

"Don't get too cocky," she smacked his arm playfully. She thanked the driver and gave a heavy tip for their lewd quarrels and immaturity.

"Follow me," John said and grabbed her hand, where he led her to the set on the beach.

"Wow," she exhaled and lowered her large cat-eye sunglasses.

"John Lennon! Where have you been? We've been lookin' for you for an hour and a 'alf! We thought you've gotten trampled by a bloody mob or something!" Brian stomped over to the couple, kicking sand with his Italian shoes.

"I picked up a treat along the way," he replied. "I reckon you to stay away though, she bites."

The Jewish manager looked over at her, a sudden feeling of timidness washing over him as though she casted a spell with a simple wink of the eye, belittled immediately in her stinging presence. It was as though she loomed large and proud, a tragic Sun in the company of a tea candle. He couldn't help but go a little green with envy at the sight of Lennon's latest opponent- in this case, _his_ opponent.

"I'm Brian Epstein, pleased to make your acquaintance," he pulled out a handkerchief and patted his forehead with it.

"Charmed," Margot replied, smiling enigmatically. "My name's Margot."

Paul, Ringo, and George stood off to the side and ogled at her as well; she was very petite in comparison to John, portraying him with Sasquach-like proportions that were almost too comical. No doubt, the others had been slightly interested in her as well.

"Let's meet me bandmates, then," John walked her to the rest of the Beatles and this would be the closest he would get showing off a trophy to his mates, a living, breathing, beautiful trophy that ran away too often.

"So you're the bird that's been causing John's hair to fall out," George spoke up first, surprisingly. "He's going bald, you know." Margot chuckled at his comment. She took off her sunglasses and analyzed the faces she saw too often.

"You've been drivin' him mad! And it's quite a show, I must admit," Ringo piped up.

"Yeah! Leavin' 'im all those notes and all that," Paul winked at her. "John can't shut up about you, it's very tiring but it keeps him out of our hair, so, keep up the good work, Margot! She's quite the woman, Johnny."

John suppressed his annoyance, his nostrils flaring slightly at the undeviating teasing and flirting. She looked up at him and he shook his head in response, their chemistry brewing as it met the precipice of intimacy- they didn't need words to communicate.

"I didn't know you liked me this much, _Johnny_ ," Margot chipped in with the teasing. She glanced back at the rest of the Beatles. "You're all taller in person, especially you." She looked at Ringo, as did the others. Then again, she was significantly shorter than most people older than the age of 13.

"I honestly imagined you to look like Bardot by the way John felt about you or somethin',"George replied, knowing that they all reserved adoration for girls with blonde hair ever since they were teenagers. In Harrison's mind, what he saw was better than what he had expected. "I just expected you to be blonde, but you're the complete opposite."

"Is that so?" she replied, having it come out as a statement rather than a question, clearly entertained by how the Beatles had been entertained by her. "Maybe that's a good thing then. Anyway, what's with the set up? A little beach party?"

"Yeah, actually," Paul nodded. "Why John, you should let her stay for it! She can dance in the background or something. It'd be a fun sight to see."

John shook his head at the suggestion, refusing the others to ogle at her body at the beach! It was basically open season on the poor girl, and not even he could handle her fully.

"Hell no, Paul, she's probably busy, right, Margot?" he looked at her.

"Actually, like I said before John, I have nothing to do. I would love nothing more than to accompany you in your movie!" She was sickeningly sweet with her remarks.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," John groaned.


	9. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the late-ish update! I just started college and I've been busy, but writing helps me calm my nerves, and I will continue to update! Thank you so much for your support. You guys are so sweet!**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter 7:**

 **Pair-a-Dice**

* * *

"Ah, cheers to that then!" Paul grinned. "Ay, Mal, we've got another extra 'ere, help her get dressed, will you?" He turned his head back to talk to Mal. Mal nodded and walked over to the group.

"Hello, there, I'm Mal. I hope the boys aren't causing you too much trouble," he chuckled and placed his hand out for Margot to shake. Her small, pale, and slender hand gently shook his.

"Margot," she introduced herself. "Oh, they're not. If anything, I'm the one causing trouble." she said calmly, smiling.

"So we've got a cheeky one here, I see!" he bellowed. "Hats off to that, miss. Come 'ead and let's get you fitted, then." Margot nodded and followed suit, sauntering off on the golden sand and turning around to stick her tongue out at John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Once the larger man and Margot disappeared into a trailer, the band stopped watching them and looked at John.

"What a woman," Paul sighed. "She's a strange one, isn't she?"

"That's why John loves her so much," George pointed out.

"Ey! Watch your damn mouth Harrison," John snapped. "Another peep out of you and I'll have your lips sewn together and you won't live to eat another meal!"

In all honesty, it would be so easy to love her, and he had already been half in love with her by their second encounter, or so he believed. He often denounced the concept of true love, completely paradoxical and hypocritical of the lyrics he emanated on stage. Once had there been a time where he truly loved Cyn, and he still did, but too much exploring and distance had allowed the knots of their relationship to diminish and tear away with no abandon. He knew for a fact he could love the dark haired woman who tormented him too often, it was almost too easy to love her.

But, he didn't, just yet.

"Alright, alright, you two, cut it out, or neither of you won't live at all!" Ringo cut in. The three of them raised their hands into air as a notion of surrender.

"Well, easy come easy go," Paul replied. He opened his mouth to speak again but before he could get a syllable out, he turned his head and raised his eyebrow at the sight that was approaching them.

Margot, supple yet untouchable in a daring black one piece, ambled towards the Beatles in make-believe slow motion, each cell in the celluloid strip framing one step at a time. She had been aware of her beauty and she made the slight effort to swing her hips more than often. John and the others watched her approach them, all of their chests tightening with anticipation for her next move.

"You lot act like you've never seen a woman before," Margot laughed. "I'd tell you to take a picture because it'll last longer, but I'd prefer to be forgotten, thank you very much."

"Come back to my room later and we'll have some fun with a camera," John replied and reached out for her waist; she shot him a strange look, but allowed him to rest his arms on her.

"Oh, get off it, Lennon, you big pervert," Paul groaned. "You look great, Margot." He winked at her and Margot smiled bitterly. He walked away with the rest of the Beatles to another part of the set.

"I'd eat you up for dinner," John said lowly to her. In response, she rolled her eyes.

"Can't you contain yourself for one goddamn moment?" Margot asked. "Oh wait, you're like an untrained dog, so probably not then."

"I wouldn't mind takin' a few lessons from you, you know," he chuckled. "Come on, we've got scenes to shoot and shoots to scene!"

Margot followed John, fluffing up her long, wavy hair as she approached the set, where a man walked up to her and introduced himself as Dick Lester. He narrowed down his directions for her, as she was simply an extra, instructing her to dance. It was a pretty shallow job for a girl, but getting paid to look beautiful was always a plus in her eyes.

"Oh dear, this is going to be a challenge," she remarked sarcastically as she splashed the ocean's tide with her foot. A few seconds later, Another Girl by the Beatles blared through faraway speakers, and the Beatles began to dance and lip sync to Paul's song. Margot once again allowed the music to possess her and she moved with the beat. In some other shots, she and John were together, either staring at each other or gazing into the camera with flowered branches subtly and beautifully obscuring some lines on their faces. Though they didn't have many chances to fully converse with each other, her adoration for John grew slightly during her shots with him, as their eyes created a golden haze when his almond shaped, brown eyes, met hers, hazel and endearing. Particularly in one scene, he picked her up bridal-style and sung to her, to which Margot brushed off but mentally enjoyed.

The shooting wrapped up as the sun began to set, the sky swirling with pinks and oranges that artists could never perfectly replicate on a blank canvas. John walked Margot back to the dressing room trailer, resting his hand on the door while she walked up the steps of the metal box.

"That was fun," She simply said. "Time to take this death suit off."

"So soon, eh?" He opened the door to the trailer for her. "The gang and I are headin' to the casino after this. You should come and blow some chips with me."

"Aw, asking me out on another date? Seems like you really can't get enough of me." She ruffled his hair and closed the door on him, stripping down from her bathing suit and into her original outfit.

"Ey, I'll do whatever it takes to win our deal," He grabbed her hand and led her down the steps of the trailer. "A cab should be here soon, you better not go running off again."

"It's not like I can, anyways!" She yanked her hand, but John didn't let go. "Might as well handcuff my wrist to yours, for Christ's sake!"

"I can arrange that you know," he laughed. "Though, I can see how hard it would be, as I play guitar and all…" he teased her and nudged her shoulder with his slightly. They walked hand and hand through the sand and towards the road, where a line of cabs waited for the crew and the Beatles.

"After you, miss," He held the door open for her before crawling in himself. Soon enough, Margot and John would be on their way back to the resort, where they would separate into their individual hotel rooms to freshen up after a long day of sun. John had finished before she did, and he headed down to her suite, knocking on the door.

"Special delivery!" Lennon exclaimed once she opened the door.

She took a drag of her cigarette and looked at him, dashing in his tailored suit and cleaned hair. His eyes widened once they adjusted to the woman in front of him, smoke slightly obscuring his sight of her; her hair was down in large waves, and her hazel eyes had been accentuated with dark makeup and red lipstick. She wore another tight, black dress that hugged her slim yet curvy stature eloquently. She looked like the night, and he wanted to reach out and touch the dark sky. "Where is it? Is it a moped?"

"No."

"You got me plane tickets to Paris."

"No."

"A pet snake?"

"What the hell, woman, you're lookin' right at it!"

"Oh," Margot replied, quickly closing the door until John jammed his foot in the space before it could fully close.

"Not so fast, my pretty, we've got a date." He pushed the door completely and shook his foot. "Stop shuttin' the damn door on me foot, you're gonna break it." He said as he walked in and observed the place.

"Oh, just make yourself at home!" She glanced at him and said sarcastically.

"Trust me, I will. And hurry up, will ya?"

Margot flicked his ear, resulting in a loud, "OW!" to fill the room's air. "Okay, I'm ready, Lennon. Prepare to lose your money, honey,"

"I ain't a loser, Angelface," He walked towards the door and opened it.

"Really? That one song says otherwise. What was it called again? _I'm a Loser?"_ She snickered and walked past him out of the door and into the hall.

"Hey!" He called out and ran up to her, grabbing her by the waist and placing her over his shoulder. "You said you weren't a Beatles fan!"

"I'm not," she huffed, while pounding his back. "I just remember it because I thought it was a funny song! Now put me down you ogre!"

"Sure, baby," He snorted. "Nah, I think you like it when I carry you like this."

Margot sighed in frustration and kneed him in the stomach, which seemed to do the trick.

"FUCK!"

She was like sand, slipping out of his palms faster than he had initially obtained her.

"You might wanna think twice on that," She said as she walked over to the elevator and pressed the "Down" arrow. Unusually quick, the lift had arrived instantly and opened its heavy doors for the couple.

"You're gonna regret that, luv," John replied. "Especially when I'm going to be bringing in all the chips!"

"We'll see about that," She chuckled, and he slid his hand into hers. "Your ass is grass."

"And you'll be handing your ass over to me once the night ends. You'll be dust." He taunted back.

Their lift ride had finally ended, prompting John and Margot to walk hand in hand into the zeitgeist of decadence itself, where the pompous wealthy and overly eager indulged in their gambling and sucked on their cancer sticks, filling the air with their draining life supply. There was something almost nostalgic in the glowing, neon lights and bumbling, golden noise that emanated from the ways the slot machines alerted their shrill urgencies, the ways dealers raked in the chips, borderline communications amongst inanimate objects; however, perhaps it was the people who were the very heart of the beautiful commotion. Margot and John scanned their eyes along the sea of adult fun and decided to head over to a roulette table, with both of them placing their bets on opposing colors. The miniscule, metallic ball rolled along the spinner until it finally landed on John's black, a notion that meant that he would be rewarded with $5,000. Margot smirked at him, impressed by his tick of luck. She walked over to him from the other side of the table and reckoned that they go meet up with the others. He nodded, eager to show his recent winnings to his mates.

"Yeah, Johnny boy!" Ringo called out, raising two fists into the air.

"You're gonna share that lot with me, yeah?" George laughed and reached out for John's chips, causing him to protectively fend off his earnings.

"Holy shit! Holy shit Johnny!" Paul yelled. "You better use that money of yours to treat your lady, you lucky shit!"

Margot nodded and threw her head back and laughed. "You should, you know." John pulled her in tightly and pressed her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. Realistically, that amount of money wasn't anything unusual, especially given that they were the most popular band in the world, but the rush of having luck and chance on your side had intoxicated all of them all too well. Soon enough, the rest of them wanted to be as lucky as John, and they all crowded around a Craps table. Too involved in their dice, the Beatles did not blink an eye away from the table before realizing that Margot once again, left.

John looked up and frantically turned around, looking for her in the crowd and smoke. His high had quickly reached a low, and he sobered up at the fact that she was gone.

Again.

"Where the fuck did she go?" John whispered loudly into Paul's ear. He stopped leaning over the table and looked around as well.

"Man, she does not like stayin' put," Paul noted. "Maybe she went to the loo?"

Though plausible, John knew she wasn't there, though he wished she was. He noticed a slip of paper on the ledge of the table, similar to the one he received on the plane; he opened it, and in the same messy handwriting, it read, "CATCH ME IF YOU CAN". Rather than looking for her and always giving in, he brushed her off and told the others that he was going to get a drink from the bar.

He shook his head as he sat down, staring at the note. At this point, he didn't bother looking.


	10. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the wait! College is pretty crazy. But the show must go on!**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter 8:**

 **Bon-Adventure**

* * *

"Scotch and Coke please," John murmured to the bartender, still staring at the note. It was as though someone had drenched his fiery excitement using an arsenal of firefighter equipment; he knew his days with her were counting down, and because of that, he _had_ to eat up every second he shared the same air as her- sharing the same Moon couldn't suffice. They had gotten off so well! And he mentally thanked the nonexistent gods for the opportunity of immortalizing their love on the celluloid, soon to be projected onto the silver screen in months ahead. The bartender slightly raised his brows at Lennon's malaise, curious as to what the ripped piece of paper had said.

"Whatcha got there? Fake digits?" The bartender glanced over as he slid the drink to the British man.

John shrugged and nodded, "Yeah, basically." He took a sip and thanked the man. He then looked to his left and right before noticing that the girl that occupied his mind wasn't as far as he expected; in fact, she had only been a few bar stools away. The man behind the bar opened his mouth to speak but John put a finger up and stood up, quickly making his way over to Margot.

"What the hell is this?" He firmly pressed the piece of paper on the bar and glared at her.

"You're really gonna act like this whenever I leave your side? Well, you've caught me," Margot glanced up and sipped her martini. "Didn't think it would take this long, though. What was the hold up? Giving up on our deal already, I see."

Livid, he shook his head and cynically laughed. "Yeah, I just about did, but I'm not going to lose your fucking games,"

"Well, that's good to hear. But let me ask you something," Margot replied, and John lifted his head up to accept. "Why are you so obsessed with me and all of this anyways? By the looks of it, I'm just a hedonist with no direction and you're a man bored with his life, ironically enough."

"Rich and famous at a young age, married with a son, you've got it all," She continued.

"And I'm still not satisfied," John replied, sitting on the stool next to hers. He felt pathetic as she examined him as though he were on a petri dish, magnified under the hot lights of a microscope. "Yeah, I'm a selfish prick, I know, luv."

He turned on the stool to face her. "I just want you. Madly. Can't a man want somethin'?"

"All you want is a distraction from your pathetic life," She coolly replied, lighting a cigarette.

At this point his ego had been badly wounded by her jeering remarks; most often he would have retorted with something clever, but he had gone far in too deep for this to be lighthearted banter. She had been hot and cold consistently, which was easily expected, but her departures were always so unwarranted that he was floored whenever she wasn't by his side. He was frustrated by her constant absence, but perhaps, it also prompted, encouraged him to try harder. He always felt the need to touch her, to feel her and make sure that she was there and not smoke and mirrors; love wasn't a cheap magic trick, after all. He took a moment to introspect on what she had said, and for some reason the word "pathetic" had seared the most into his pale skin, poignant with the sound of her voice. There was no way he could have been bored already, perhaps tired, but never disinterested at the possibility of a new day. He was the most famous rockstar in the world, and here he was, pining for a woman who was only half there. The most preeminent dichotomy in his life was his repertoire of love songs, which sadly did not portray his love life. Not that many songs had been written about Cynthia, though he did adore her; she bared his child and their marriage had been two parts obligation and one part desire. He loved her, but the love he had was worn out and tattered like a favorite book whose covers were barely bound with too many dog-eared pages. Cynthia was his blonde, white angel, but she was no match for the black magic woman. Margot was not a distraction, but a new chapter.

" _I'm_ the pathetic one?" John sneered, taken aback. "You said it yourself, you've got no direction! All you do is screw around and leave! Might as well just live your life aimlessly and accomplish nothing. You better watch that mouth of yours, sweetheart." He said all of this with half defense, half teasing. He bluffed. He had no idea what she had done in her life, her accomplishments, her skills, not even her last name- all of which he ached to learn.

"Please," Margot placed her hand up. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me. You must be bloody bored if you really believe that the first woman who doesn't stay around like a housewife is going to change your life and take you on all these whirlwind adventures."

In all honesty, she really did adore John, but if she was going to be with him, he couldn't be so adamant about love, so desperate. This was no playing "hard to get", but a way for him to grow out of this shallow belief that his life had been nothing before she had shown up. It wasn't up to her to show him how to appreciate the universe; that was all for himself to discover on his own.

"I don't have to be bored to believe that," He spat. "You must be bored out of your wits to be toyin' around with people like this."

"I went to go get a drink, for Christ's sake!"

"Oh sod off, you know what I bloody meant."

"I do whatever I want, so what, John?" Margot said, exasperated. "Does it really bother you that much?"

"God, you're makin' me sound like a real villain out here," He chuckled. "I don't wanna sound like some sad ol' controlling fuck. You and I had a deal and I guess havin' you away from me just drives me mad. Just be with me for the next two weeks and let's see where this takes us."

Margot shot him a look of disbelief.

"Please."

Another look.

"Please, just let me have you so we can actually get to know each other, because I know I'll get you in the end, luv. Also, because I know you and I are the same, I feel it. Just let me get to know you."

She took a swig of her drink. "Sure," she took a drag from her cigarette. "I can't stand you, by the way."

"I can't stand you either," He lowered his eyes and voice, a clear and blatant display of their perennial sexual tension.

Averting her eyes, she stood up. "Let's continue this conversation at the beach. It's too stuffy in here for my liking,"

Eager, Lennon stood up and followed in a way he felt was something short of a dog and its master, though the dynamic disgusted him. They snaked their way through the money hungry patrons and sighed once they reached the fresh, night air. She reached out for his hand and grabbed it, leading the way to the street, towards the sand and ocean. Something about the velvety, indigo colored sky made Margot soften up a bit, and if she focused well enough, she could see silver specks along the giant blanket. Once they hit the sand, she took off her heels, and sat down on the soft sand.

John wasted no time. "Do you even have a last name?"

Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback by his strange question. "Of course I have a last name. Who doesn't?" She realized that she never told him her last name. "It's Bonaventure, by the way."

"Margot Bonaventure?"

"Yes, I-"

He bursted out with laughter, though it wasn't malicious in the slightest. "You've got the most adorable damn name I've ever heard of!"

She bashfully smiled and rolled her eyes as a response. "Shut up. Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I'm French."

He studied her facial features closely, dangerously close to kissing her- he ached to do it, but he knew not to jump the gun at this moment. She didn't look particularly French, or British, for that matter. In fact, he didn't know her origins at all.

"You don't look like you've got a lick of French in you," He muttered.

"Of course I don't! Because I've also got Lebanese and Korean blood too," She replied as she grasped a handful of sand.

"More like the blood of a tiger," He was amused by her answer, as he gained more knowledge on her. "You've got the entire globe in you! I'm just some simple Irish Brit, nothing too special, unlike you, Magnificent, or should I say, Bonaventure."

"Hey, I'm no star either. I'm just a girl who enjoys life's pleasures," Margot replied. "I still don't understand why you're so stuck on me." She admitted.

"Like you've said, you're a girl who enjoys life's pleasures," He pointed out. "Maybe that's why I'm so glued to you."

"You have a wife, Lennon," She said. Her voice had seemed crestfallen.

Margot had cheated in the past too; initially, she didn't feel a thing-no sympathy or pity for the heart she broke, simply sweeping the fragments of a glass heart under the rug. Her infidelity had been quite a mess and regardless of how indifferent she felt over cheaters, she did believe that the Devil's work could be easily avoided with a breakup. She felt a pang of pity for Lennon's wife, however, for she knew she was in love with him, nursing his child and probably waiting for him to come home.

"I do," He nodded. "Doesn't mean I can't enjoy you, though. You and her are complete opposites, honestly."

She snickered. "Yeah, she enjoys your presence,"

"Oh, come off it," He laughed, playfully shoving her shoulder. "If you didn't like my presence, why are you here, then? Stop pretendin' that you hate me so much."

"I'm not pretending," Margot said with a grin on her face.

"Is there an award for bein' the worst actress? If so, you've got your name on it!" He laughed, and she began to laugh too. "There's those pearly whites. I've finally got you to smile!"

"Oh alright, I don't exactly hate your presence, Johnny. I'm indifferent, it's not every day where you can have a celebrity dying at your feet" She said as she laughed.

"My, that's a lot fuckin' better than what I expected," He said sarcastically. "Anyways, tell me more about yourself, woman."

"What a loaded request," She scoffed. "Hm, let me think. I design lingerie. I was 'sposed to head off to med school to be a nurse, but I think I'd just end up killing the patients."

John laughed once again, deeply enamored with every word that dripped off her pink lips. Internally, he gleamed at the fact that she designed lingerie, meaning that she would have an extensive collection of delicates that he loved so much on women. He pictured her in all the possibilities that his vast mind could conjure up. Alongside that, she had admitted that she was clumsy, and though a rather strange thing to fawn over, he couldn't help but adore her blatant honesty; she was ungraceful, just like him. He stared at her and said nothing.

"What is it? Is there something on my face?" She reached up to her cheek.

"You're a goddamn dream," He said, cupping her face into his hands and kissing her hard.

"More like a nightmare, old sport," She patted his head.

"Yeah right, you couldn't scare a goddamn bug if you tried to."

"Well, I think I'm doin' a swell job by scaring a certain Beatle."

"Cheeky, eh? You act like you're not scared of anything but whenever I turn around, you've ran off like you've seen a ghost, or somethin'," John pointed out. "So, be honest and tell me what keeps you up at night!"

"Commitment, I suppose," She said blatantly. "I can't stand feeling trapped in one spot, it makes my skin itch. I'd rather be out there on adventures, travelling and experiencing new things. What's the point of living if you're going to be in one place? Doesn't seem like living to me."

"So _that's_ why you keep disappearing. Scared of sticking around with boring men who can't keep their eyes off of you," He mused. He agreed with every word she said, gradually falling deeper into his adoration, for she was something better than he had expected, with a beautiful face and mind. "You and I are going to go on an adventure."

"You're already an adventure," She said half genuinely, half sarcastically. He was interesting, no doubt about that. He had been wittier and more eccentric than any other person she had ever known, and despite her fragmented retreats, she had kept coming back for a reason, for she indeed was drawn to his incendiary nature, savoring and interested with his energy. He perceived her as a challenge, but to her, he served as the noise that distracted her so much from the mundane and monotonous in the world. Perhaps she had been too hard on him. She could see herself in his eyes; she wouldn't mind being with him for longer than expected.

"No, I'm dead-on serious 'ere," He said urgently. "Think of one thing you wanted to do here. There is no way you planned on stayin' here and sleeping in your hotel room all day, getting fat from gourmet meals."

Margot sighed, vulnerable and full of hope. She leaned back and laid on the sand. "I want to go island hopping and explore without a care in the world. Visit all the beaches and go into caves and all that,"

Excited at the possibilities, his eyes lit up. "Let's go then, you and I could be adventurers, hunt animals and climb mountains and all that other good stuff. Adventure is practically your last name anyways, Bon-adventure."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" she looked at him."Bonaventure means good luck, by the way, you twit."

"Not at all, Mars. You and I could be like Tarzan and Jane for cryin' out loud!" He pressed his forehead against her. "Oh same thing!"

"Well, that would explain a lot of stuff, wouldn't it?" She chuckled and punched him in the gut. "Also, Mars? Really?"

"Shit!" He cried out, then rolled over, so that he was on top of her. "Also, yeah, you're pretty outta this world, like Mars. I'm clever."

"You're callin' me a planet? Gee, John, if you wanted to tell me that I'm getting heavy, just say so," She teased.

"Just take the damn compliment, woman!" He pinned her arms up against the sand.

"Well this feels all too familiar."

"Let's do it again, yeah?"

Margot kneed him in the stomach. "You're an idiot." Once he recoiled, she pushed him off of her and straddled him.

"Nah, maybe a swine, but not an idiot," He snorted like a pig. "Anyway, when are we starting this journey? I got two weeks here and then I'm gone. Better savor your time with me."

 _Shit,_ she thought. She knew that their affair had to be ephemeral, but she hadn't actually acknowledged how short their time together would actually be, a slight ticking time bomb. Time was never on anyone's side, was it?

"Tomorrow."


	11. A Message

**Hi guys! Thank you so much for the reviews. As of recently, if you haven't noticed, I have been receiving relentless reminders from people on this site that really have nothing better to do than to meticulously pick stories piece by piece. There are thousands of stories in the Across the Universe section that have been about the Beatles for YEARS. Anyways, I know many of you love this story and so do I. :) However, I no longer feel free to post as I like on this website, SOOOOO**

 **Join me on my journey to other fanfiction hosting sites! Luckily for you all, I was one step ahead and I have been posting Girl on ArchiveofOurOwn and Quotev! Just search up "Knifedolly"(that's my username) and you will find my story there!**

 **Thank you so much for your support! I love you all so much.**

 **~Wren**


	12. Chapter 9

**Hello, everyone! I know you may all be disheartened by my decision, but you must all realize that if I continue this story on FFN, it may risk being reported and taken down. This will be my last chapter on here, BUT the story will be continued on Quotev and Archiveofourown! Just search up "Knifedolly" and Girl will be right there waiting for you. This is only the beginning.**

 **~Wren**

* * *

 **Chapter 9:**

 **Bon Voyage**

* * *

John grinned so widely that Margot couldn't help but smile back at the man.

"Let's do it, then! I can hire a private guide and everythin'!"

"Are you sure? What about your movie and all that?" Margot asked. She played with the ends of her hair, genuinely, and slightly concerned with the genuinity of Lennon's willingness to do such an extravagant feat. John nodded quickly and grabbed her hand.

"We're practically done with filming it. It's not a problem for me," He replied.

"You can't be serious," She shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh, but I am!" He pulled her close to his chest.

"So, you're really just going to drop everything for a week of fun with some girl you hardly know?"

"You're Margot Bonaventure," He replied. "That's all I need to know."

She shrugged, giving into his disposition. Initially she hadn't felt anything when realizing that she would be vacationing with John Lennon for a week. As she laid down with the strange man beside her, she absorbed the possibilities of the adventures she knew were to come. They laid there, with only the sound of Lennon's hum filling the air with saccharine tunes; this was the calm before a great storm, and they both knew it. She couldn't help but smile at the fact itself.

Before it got too late, they silently stood up and walked back to the hotel, hand in hand. John quickly let go and slapped her butt.

"Hey!" Margot punched him in the stomach.

"Ow! What was tha' for?" He slurred, doubling over in pain.

"We're not even inside yet and you can't control yourself for a minute, huh?" She shook her head at him, clearly amused by his pain.

"Why do you punch like a man!" He yelled at her.

"Probably because I'm more of a man than you ever will be," She replied, walking towards the hotel. John remained hunched over and caught up to speed with her.

"I can prove you wrong right now!" Lennon said, punching the elevator button with his thumb.

"You're proving that you're a loser to me right now," Margot laughed as she walked into the lift.

"It's so hard to win with you, you damn witch," John said. He rested his hand against the wall, above her shoulder, and faced her.

"You're just mad you're under my spell," She said confidently. "You toad."

"Did I say witch? I meant princess. You know what the princess does to the toad," He smiles cheekily at her.

"You should try eating frog legs. They're pretty delicious," Margot replied.

"Cannibalism is looked down upon, woman," John stepped out the elevator and grabbed her hand, leading them to his suite.

"Only in some cultures," She strode by him and sat down on his bed, although the scratchy material of her dress had made it so that her skin of her legs was sensitive and slightly reddening. John, tired of the day's events, took off his boots and had a running start, pinning her down to the bed by her shoulders.

"Hah! You thought I was gonna forget our conversation earlier," He said out of breath.

"This is nothing. You and I both know that," She claimed, clearly unphased by what happened. "Try harder, Lennon."

"I will," He peppered her neck with kisses and left bites in between in his words. She rolled on top of him and grabbed him by his hair.

* * *

"RISE AND SHINE, ANGEL FACE!" John threw a teddy bear that sat on the TV stand at the sleeping woman, who was snoring in his bed. She flinched, her eyes immediately opening with great agitation. "We've got a boat to catch!"

"I hate you."

"Mm? What was that?" He called out from the bathroom.

"I SAID I HATE YOU."

"I love you too, Mars."

Margot inhaled a sharp breath and her eyes shot open, an electric feeling jolting at her fingertips. How could he, of all people, say the word so easily? Especially to someone he just met? Loving her would be immensely unrealistic, stupid even. She didn't know why men told her they loved her because she never saw a reason. Often times she didn't even care when they mustered up what little courage they had to say it to her. Now, however, she felt estranged in her own skin. She rolled off of the bed and strode to the bathroom.

"Get real, Lennon," She pushed him aside and grabbed his toothbrush; there hadn't been enough time last night to go back to her room and take her belongings. John wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Nothing is real," He said into her ear.

Margot spit the foam out from her mouth. "Exactly," She continued to brush her teeth.

John contemplated his earlier statement; he wasn't even sure as to why he said it. Perhaps it was to get on her nerves, or maybe he did. He highly doubted that it was the second one, but she was too easy to adore, though she was so aggressive in her nature. He could see him loving her, better than anything else he could have done in his life. His train of thought crashed instantly as it was interrupted by a loud slam of the door, the telltale sound of Margot exiting the premises. Instead of panicking, he reminded himself to trust in her. He hoped that she only left to shower and pack her things. The cab wouldn't be arriving for another two hours, and he knew he would be walking straight into a hurricane.

Two hours later

Margot knocked on the door and in a slightly high-pitched tone, she said, "Room service!"

Immediately, John opened the door, appreciating what his eyes met. Her hair was half up, and her eyes had been obscured by her large cat sunglasses.

"Where's the full course meal?" He asked.

"You're looking at it," She pushed past him and flopped onto the bed. There were hotel staff in his room, packing his luggage onto a cart; they soon handled her luggage and left the room.

"For once I agree with you," Lennon chuckled. "Come 'ead, we're leavin' now!" He swung open the door for her and paced down the hallway.

Margot blew air from her mouth, bracing herself for the whirlwind adventure with the celebrity man that she knew would cause too much trouble. She held his hand, not so sure whether it was because she was allowing the in-the-moment excitement manifest her physical body, or that she was really warming up to him. Still, she had been bewildered by his impulsive nature; how he more than willingly paid for the expenses, risking it all for a girl who could leave in any instant. One photograph could end it all, and she couldn't distinguish who couldn't care less. A taxi led the couple down to the docks, where a man slightly older than them, a native of the land, waved at them.

"Greetings, Mr. Lennon, and Madam, my name is Will, and I will be your guide for this trip!" He smiled and held his hand out for both of them to shake. The couple shook his hand and introduced themselves properly. They approached the boat and helped the elder gentleman get the suitcases onto the boat.

"Hope you don't get sea sick," Margot muttered as she took a seat. He looked more distraught than usual, gripping the bars behind the leather seats tighter than the average person would. She did a double take and read his face, growing amused at the revelation that he could easily succumb to seasickness.

"Shit, you do!" She laughed.

"Sod off, I do not," He shot her an angry look.

"Make sure to put your life vests on please!" Will called out from the front of the boat. They both nodded at him, scrambling to find the awkward and bulky equipment. Once settled, the older man announced that they would be taking off, the boat's propellers instantly whirring through the blue water below.

"Don't worry Johnny, I'll pull you back in if you fly off," She poked him. He laughed at her remark and he swore that he could see a future in her eyes. He wished he had his camera, but it had been buried deep down in his luggage. Her hair had become a raven nest within the wind's power, messy and free, and she hadn't looked more beautiful. She grinned widely at him and he did the same. He cupped her cheeks into his hands and kissed her on the lips, an action that he never got tired of doing.

"I ain't going anywhere without you," He said to her. They hadn't been sure how long they had been riding for, because as soon as they realized it, they arrived at their first destination.

"Here's your first stop! Get off the boat safely. Good luck and have a safe time, you two!" He called out to them as they unloaded the boat and headed towards the island's sand.

The island before them stood tall and billowing; unlike the city back there, this island had been quieter in its nature, more private and mysterious without the peppering of humans throughout.

"I'd stay here forever if I could," John said while he took it all in. His daze had been interrupted by Margot's abrupt bump to the shoulder.

"Take a picture or something! Let's get rid of our luggage then we can go do stuff!" She waved the keys to their bungalow that sat right atop the water right into his face.

"Alright alright, Christ, woman. Can't a man enjoy a view?"

"Maybe when he's on his deathbed, or something. Come on, you slow poke! Help me out here!"

She scrambled with the bags and groaned in frustration, to which John responded with a laugh, running to her and grabbing several bags. Her hair had been still messed up from the earlier wind. He couldn't help but reach out and ruffle her hair, creating more of a mess than it already was.

"Quit it, you big goon!" She shoved him and proceeded to grasp the handles of the luggage, dragging them through to sand to the foot of their bungalow. She unlocked the door, and took a step back once the corridors to their suite on the water revealed what laid inside.


End file.
